


cultivate it actively

by GalaxyOwl



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 08:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15409194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyOwl/pseuds/GalaxyOwl
Summary: Stolen time in Old Man's Chin, on the eve after a battle.





	cultivate it actively

**Author's Note:**

> fatt femslash week: stealing time

The stars glitter overhead, brighter than they should be, and Adaire stops paying attention to Red Jack’s words altogether. Her gaze lands on Hella, sitting beside her, her features illuminated by the reflected starlight of the mothkin’s mirrors. A few strands of hair have come undone from the careful ponytail she put it in this morning, before the battle, and now hang loose in front of her face as she flexes her hand against the seat.

Hella in battle was an impressive sight. Which Adaire had already known, really, but seeing it in action so clearly was a different thing. The woman could fight.

Adaire’s glad she decided to stay; who knows if things would have gone the same way without her? Hella is useful to have around. If Adaire hadn’t already made up her mind about that, today would have decided it for her.

She isn’t sure that she made the same example of herself. The trip to Rosemerrow made a difference, but not as obvious of one as the sight of Hella’s arms swinging that sword.

Which is fine. Adaire isn’t Hella. But it’s important, she thinks, that Hella want to keep her around. That’s something that _Adaire_ wants. For Hella to want her.

Around. For Hella to want her around.

“Hey,” she whispers, now. Hella startles slightly. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Hella glances back towards Red Jack—surrounded by an audience of moths, a very engaged Throndir, and a very unengaged Hadrian—and then turns back towards her, and nods.

Adaire stands, slowly, and starts away from the crowd. She doesn’t turn to see if Hella follows, but as she moves out into the dark of the snow-laden forest she can hear the telltale sound of Hella’s heavier footsteps behind hers.

Adaire keeps walking, until she can no longer hear the voices from the town, until she can no longer see the light of the encampment as anything other than a glimmer in the distance. Then she stops, and stands, and takes a deep breath of crisp, cold air.

She finally turns to look at Hella—Hella, who is watching her, now, one eyebrow raised. She’s still half-in and half-out of armor, wearing a chest-plate but not much else, her hair still half-in and half-out of her ponytail. Adaire steps closer to her and resists the urge to reach up and brush it away from where it covers her eye.

Hella sighs. “What was it you wanted, Adaire?”

“I—“ She can’t say that she wanted the chance to curry favor with Hella, of course. She has to say something else. “I just wanted to get you alone, honestly.”

Adaire slams her mouth shut. That was the wrong thing to say, surely. There’s no way she hasn’t just made things a hundred times worse than they already were.

But Hella isn’t reacting as if she had. Hella is still just watching her, cautious, quiet (how unlike her), the corner of her lip pulled up into something that might be a smile. “Oh?” she says.

Adaire can work with this.

A nervous laugh. “Yeah.”

That’s what this is—Adaire stepping closer, a smile on her lips—it’s working with the situation. Not anything to do with Adaire herself. This is all a ploy to get Hella to like her, and Adaire’s heart definitely isn’t hammering in her chest as she reaches up to cup Hella’s face in her hand (her skin cold in the winter air), as she leans in and lays a single, careful kiss on her lips.

Definitely not.

She pulls back, and her heart is still pounding, and Hella is still looking at her like—like—like Adaire was wishing she would, back by town, in the starlight.

Adaire has no idea what to do about this. So she reaches up and brushes the stray hair out of Hella’s face, tucks it behind her ear.

“Why, Adaire,” Hella says, her tone almost teasing.

There’s a tight feeling in Adaire’s chest as she looks at Hella, standing there close, and before she can think too much about it Hella leans in and kisses her again, long and soft and sweet in a way Adaire wouldn’t have guessed Hella could be.

Really, this is perfect. Really, this is the best Adaire could have hoped for; here is something simple that she can give Hella. Here is something easy to make Hella reliant on. So why does it feel like Adaire’s the one being played? Like she’s the one who’d lose everything if Hella turned and walked away right now?

It’s a question for a different time, she decides. For some time in the distant future when she doesn’t have to worry about surviving for tomorrow and can let this be something more than what it is. That isn’t right now, not when she has this job to do, and they only barely won this battle, and—

Hella kisses her again, and Adaire forgets everything else.


End file.
